


Panorama of London

by Jaelijn



Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: Community: hc_bingo, Fear of Flying, Fluff, Gen, Hot Air Balloons, Hurt/Comfort, Originally Posted on LiveJournal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-10-05
Updated: 2010-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 18:01:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26043133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaelijn/pseuds/Jaelijn
Summary: Holmes invites Watson on a panorama flight in a hot air balloon – with unforeseen consequences for the good doctor.
Relationships: Sherlock Holmes & John Watson
Kudos: 1





	Panorama of London

**Author's Note:**

> _Archiving note:_ I am importing this fic to AO3 in August 2020 for archiving purposes. It has not been edited since its original publication in 2010.
> 
> _Original A/N on LJ:_ For hc_bingo square “fear of flying”. The idea was suggested to me by three sources – one, a lovely person over at [?] , who reminded me of the hot air balloons, two, the quote below, and three, the PC game “Sherlock Holmes – Nemesis”, which features the case mentioned below (spoilers!).

“ _What the deuce is the matter with the dog?” growled Holmes. “They surely would not take a cab or go off in a balloon.”_

\- The Sign of the Four

* * *

Over the time, I have learned to be wary of my dear friend Mr Sherlock Holmes's moods. I have remarked elsewhere that they were prone to fluctuating wildly, reaching from abysmally to exhilarated when he had solved a particularly challenging case or was engrossed in his beloved music.

I have learned to be careful when I found my companion in a black mood for it were often the storm clouds that heralded trouble in one way or the other. I seem to remember one occasion when Holmes, after five weeks without cases during a extraordinarily cold winter, had, in his despair, looked through my own papers and proceeded to burn one entire chapter of the case I was currently writing up, declaring it “romanticised twaddle”. Such occasions, however, were rare, and more often would I find myself pitying him as his over-active brain allowed him no rest.

Still, the story I am about to recount has nothing to do with Holmes's bad moods – rather with those few times when he was in good spirits. Suffice to say that this occasion taught me to be equally weary of Holmes's good moods as of his bad moods.

It was on a day in autumn, after we had just concluded the case of Arsène Lupin, whom Holmes had allowed to go free with the promise that the thief's career was to end with his defeat. While I do not easily dwell on those events, since I played a rather shameful rôle in their unfolding, I was sure that Holmes was feeling the better for this battle of wits, which had come after a period of boredom.

As usual, he had allowed me to examine all the documents and evidence associated with the case, together with his own personal notes, for my literary efforts. His notes in this particular case were sparse – there simply had not been the time to ponder over the evidence, and while Holmes rejoiced in pushing his extraordinary mind to the limit, it was not very helpful in the publication of the case. However, the fact that the notes were few alerted me to a small piece of paper, pinned to a small leaflet, addressed to me.

_What do you think of this, my dear Watson?_

'This' was obviously revering to the content of the leaflet I held in my hands, the sight of which alone made my blood run cold. “Holmes, what is the meaning of this?” I asked my friend, who sat idly smoking in his customary armchair, even as two tickets for the event advertised in the leaflet fluttered into my lap.

Holmes knew, of course, what I was talking about without even looking up from the slim black-leather volume he was reading. “It is really quite fascinating, Watson. The mechanism is extraordinarily simple, and yet so enormous an effect can be achieved. It has even been useful to me in our last case. However, I wanted to observe it at a larger scale.”

“You want to go flying in an hot air balloon,” I said, incredulous.

“Quite correct, Watson. You do have a gift for stating the obvious.” Holmes rose with a smile and picked up the tickets. “It's no ordinary flight, as you well see. For one of those tandem flights, the weather conditions have to be utterly perfect. It does not reduce the risk, of course, but I do believe if they are offering rides for the public, it should be safe enough. At any rate, a tandem flight reduces the chance of drifting, and is therefore ideal for observing the mechanism of the balloon. Of course, for you and our fellow passengers, the main event will be seeing our city from above.”

“You wish me to accompany you?”

“Yes, certainly, Watson – if you have nothing better to do, that is.”

I knew well that Holmes was joking, and I was reluctant to destroy his good mood, for those were few and far between. In truth, I could hardly decline his offer. After all, he had already procured the tickets, and by his own admission, I was the only one who would ever accompany him out of social reasons. It was not that I did not share Holmes's curiosity as to the mechanism, or that I did not think seeing London from above was an experience worth the money, it was the height that worried me. Truth be told, the thought of the small gondolas dangling under a large sheet filled with nothing but hot air send a shiver down my spine.

“Are you quite all right, Watson? You look a little pale.”

“Yes, of course, I am fine. I would be delighted to accompany you, as you well know.”

“Splendid!” Holmes clapped his hands like a young boy in his joy. “Then I suggest you get your coat and hat, for we must be off if we want to see the setting up of the balloons before we go on board.”

“It is today!”

“Yes, of course – there was no time to be lost. The weather promised to be marvellous after the persistent rain of the last days, and as I said, excellent weather conditions are a prerequisite for this kind of venture.”

Holmes could hardly contain his excitement as we arrived in the park where the balloons were to start. His eyes were gleaming with interest as he observed the pilots setting up their equipment and questioned them to the process when something was unclear to him.

I kept myself in the background, watching the large hull of the balloon inflate with scepticism. I could hardly draw of now, but the small passengers' gondola looked every bit as insecure as I had imagined it, and it rocked precariously as the balloon rose from the ground a bit, held back only by a safety line.

I had hardly ever seen Holmes in better spirits. “Watson, whatever is the matter with you? You are very quiet, my friend.”

“It is nothing, Holmes. Never mind. Are the balloons ready?”

“Yes. As it turns out, a young couple and we are the only passengers. The couple, of course, will take the other balloon.”

“So, how many people fit into the basket?”

Holmes chuckled. “It's called a nacelle, or gondola, at the very least, Watson. As to your question, our pilot tells me that it safely carries seven persons of average weight. Of course, those balloons are not built for travel – they will not rise very high with either ballast. It's merely a question of the view.”

“How high will it rise, then?” I asked as we approached the nacelle.

“I am told a single balloon could well rise up to two thousand feet – however, as this is a tandem flight, we will probably reach a height of thousand feet.”

“Good heavens!”

“Quite!” Holmes was the first to climb into the floating gondola, and then offered me his hand. Close up, I could hear the flame that heated the air above our heads, but I have to confess that I was a little distracted by the frankly disquieting figure Holmes had just mentioned. It seemed very unnatural to me to be so high above stable ground.

I have never had problems with seasickness; however, I could easily understand the poor sufferers as we began our ascent. The gondola did dangle less than I had feared, but I was still very reluctant to trust the balloon to carry our weight – it was, after all, merely air – and to my shame, I found myself concentrating on looking up into the flame, rather than down onto the city below.

From the other balloon, I could hear the couple's laughter – they were apparently enjoying this little adventure, while I was very much longing to be one stable ground once again.

“We have now reached half of our maximum height, gentlemen,” our pilot announced.

For a moment, I closed my eyes and tightened my hands around the edges of the gondola, before I forced myself to relax, conscious of the fact that Holmes would notice my anxiety if I did not endeavour to conceal it.

At that time, Holmes's curiosity as to the mechanism had apparently been satisfied, and he had returned to my side, looking down onto our city, his elbows resting on the all to thin walls of the gondola. “Watson, this really is quite fascinating. Look, there is the Thames, the Houses of Parliament – I can even see the Tower from here. And over there, of course, is Baker Street. Mrs Hudson could certainly see the balloons, if she were to look out of her window now.”

“As could you brother, no doubt,” I replied, risking a fleeting glance downwards. It was a bad idea.

“Yes, there is Whitehall, and Pall Mall. However, Mycroft hides in his club at this time of day. I doubt he would notice it if we were to float past his very window.” I could feel Holmes leaning precariously out of the gondola to point down into the maze of streets below us, but I caught his sleeve and pulled him back before he could complete his movement.

“Watson, my dear fellow, whatever is the matter?”

Suddenly, I felt cold sweat springing to my face, and my knees felt very weak. Holmes must have seen it as well, for his hands closed around my upper arms, steadying me. “Watson? You look quite unwell.”

“I am sorry, Holmes. I fear I was not made for this kind of sport. The height... Don't worry, I can manage. Just leave me be, and be careful – God forbid if you were to topple out of the nacelle!”

“Watson. Watson, please calm down. You are panicking.”

I could hear the concern in his voice, but his expression remained hidden from me, for I had closed my eyes tightly. “Are we going down already?”

“Yes, we are on our descent. Here, Watson, sit down in this corner. Open your eyes, my dear fellow.”

I have never disobeyed any of Holmes's commands, and so I did as he asked. To my relief, I could see nothing but the walls of the gondola around us, our pilot's feet and legs, and Holmes, who was kneeling before me, his expression worried. “Better?”

“Much, thank you.”

“You should have told me you were feeling uneasy about this flight. I could easily have gone alone.”

“But you asked me to accompany you, and you were looking forward to this – I did not wish to ruin it for you be refusing to come.”

“Oh, my dear friend. Thank you, but I assure you, I would have understood your reasons.”

For all his words, I could tell that Holmes was a little sad that he was missing part of our flight as he crouched on the floor with me, looking up at the now smaller flame above our heads.

“Holmes, I am fine now. I beg of you, don't let me ruin your good mood – get up and enjoy the view.”

“Are you quite certain?”

“Yes, Holmes.”

I had to close my eyes again as Holmes resumed his previous position and began to describe to me what he could see, but his smile as we sat in the cab on our return to Baker Street, the violin sonata Holmes played for me that evening and his splendid mood, which lasted for two weeks and with which he surprised Inspector Gregson of the Yard, who came to consult him upon a case, was definitely worth the trouble.


End file.
